


Survival

by imaxandclimax



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Enemies to Lovers, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, a touch of ptsd and internalized homophobia due to the ww2 time period, so much denial it hurts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaxandclimax/pseuds/imaxandclimax
Summary: Conversations with Alex are short. He skips the niceties and only ever asks questions that he deems essential to his survival. This doesn't bother Tommy at all because he doesn't even like talking in the first place, much less, to Alex.Alternatively: Alex and Tommy board a train together and are going home...for a short while, anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

The last time Tommy sat across from Alex on a train, all he could remember was black. From their inky hands and eyes to Tommy’s own mind. He remembered only the nothingness of sleep as the train rocked him back into the bosom of the motherland. His home. At that point, he had been in strange lands for so long, he should’ve wanted to stay up and look at the familiar green and grey of England as it passed by; to thank his lucky stars that he was alive to see it again. But all he could do was curl up like a baby and let a heavy, dreamless sleep take over.

Now—well rested and in greater health than previous—England still whirred past the window but Tommy didn’t bother looking. Instead he was looking to his companion.

“Don’t reckon we’ll get a homecoming like at Woking Station ever again,” Alex grunts while pulling at his uniform.

“Given the circumstance for why they were welcoming us back, I don’t think I’d want to live through anything like that again, even if it meant pints and cakes and adoring birds were waiting for us at the end of it,” Tommy deadpans. Tommy remembers the last time they got off a train and how Alex smacked a kiss on the cheek of the nearest girl he could find. He rollicked and raved and had a grand time being showered with attention, meanwhile Tommy just wanted to move onto the next place so that he could sleep some more.

It had been two months since the homecoming at Woking, although Tommy doesn't know if you can really call it that. Alex and Tommy weren’t even allowed to go home right away. They checked in at the station and were immediately sent to the Vauxhall Barracks in Oxfordshire for medical treatment and more training. When they got there, Tommy slept for two days straight. Alex, on the other hand, couldn’t.

“Did you happen to grab a paper?” Alex asks. He has been obsessed with any news of the war since being back, which frustrated Tommy whenever Alex would jab the paper at his face wanting him to read it. Up until the point the war is ended, he doesn’t care what happens in between, as long as his body’s not trampled into the ground of a battlefield before that point.

“No,” Tommy shakes his head. Alex is tugging on the collar of his stiff, cleaned uniform. They usually want the soldiers to look their best when they arrive home for R&R leave. They send them back to their parents and wives looking all spruced up to conceal the fact that they have been living in their own piss and shit for months.

Tommy looks into Alex’s face. He is clean-shaven without so much as one patch missed, which is for the first time since Tommy has known him. His eyes aren’t hedged with the black oil smudges like last time they were on the train. This makes the green stand out, Tommy thinks. The edges of his face aren’t as pronounced as that day either because he has put on some healthy weight since then. Alex was much more handsome than Tommy imagined himself to be. More so without the oil making his hair stringy and face shrouded in mess. Let’s just say, there’s a reason that Alex could go up and kiss a stranger and not be smacked across the face like Tommy probably would.

Tommy tears his eyes away to finally look outside.

“Hey, look!” Alex exclaims. “I found a tanner wedged in the seat!” He holds the coin up to flash in the light of the window.

“See? I told yah you were my good luck charm,” he lifts a cheek. Tommy glowers towards Alex. He hates it when he calls him that. It made Tommy sound so… almost like Alex could roll him up and stick him in his pocket like a rabbit’s foot. Soft and weak. Nothing more important to Alex than a favor of good fortune.

“I’m gonna go find a paper,” Alex grins, getting up from the table. Tommy automatically makes to stand too

“I can go by myself, mate,” he chuckles. Tommy, with hot burning ears, sits back down and immediately stares out the window without a word.

“If the train derails, I’ll come ‘n’ find you,” Alex claps him on the back. “Maybe you’ve got a bit more luck in yah.”

Condescending sod.

When Alex disappears, Tommy squeezes his eyes tight and rubs at them. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Of course Alex can get a newspaper by himself. He doesn’t need Tommy at his side for every damn thing.

But that’s just it. For weeks now, Tommy and Alex have been doing everything together. They ate, trained, shit, and showered at the same time. They slept in cots next to each other at the barracks and Tommy was always the one to wake Alex up from his nightmares by swiftly chucking a thick-soled boot to the head.

Neither of them exactly put to words this arrangement they had. Tommy can’t speak for Alex, but Tommy certainly felt… safer with the latter around. They had been through the fires of hell together—almost quite literally when the oil-thick water went up in flames around them at Dunkirk. And from there, they had an unspoken bond in which they just stuck together. Nothing funny about it. No queerness, no nothing. They watch each other’s backs.

Tommy reckons Alex probably keeps him around because he knows no one else will look out for the dumb kid with too big of pants for his scrawny legs; too busy pulling them up to hold a gun properly. And, well, Tommy keeps Alex around simply because he thinks they help each other out—

_Help each other out._

The words resound in Tommy’s head and the heat sizzles back up his neck and into his ears as quick as the fire spread in the water. Tommy folds his hands on the table and stares down.

_Help each other out._

About a week ago, Alex was having one of his nightmares. Now, his nightmares aren’t the waking up and screaming in terror kind like some other blokes not right in the head had… But his nightmares certainly are disruptive enough. He breathes heavy—like he is trying to catch his breath. Tommy has never asked Alex what his dreams are about, but he surmises that they must be about what Tommy dreams as well: drowning. If Tommy leaves him be, his heavy breathing will turn into full-out gasping that eventually rip him from his sleep, shooting up in bed and clutching at his chest. This is why Tommy will usually find a way to wake him up before it reaches that point.

One night, the gasping began at the heaviest hour of sleep, although Tommy was lying awake. Tommy, deciding to be nice this time, left his bed to gently wake Alex and save him from the nonexistent water filling his lungs like tea kettles. Alex started and looked around wildly, but Tommy was already returning to his bed. Tommy burrowed under the covers when Alex’s eyes landed on him. His chest immediately caved as he let out a breathy, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After a while, Tommy was in the middle of counting the breaths of the man in the bed to the other side of him. He had gotten to 647 when Alex rasped, “I can’t sleep.”

Tommy rolled over and looked at the boy. The cover was pulled up to his chin and he looked positively young. Sometimes Tommy forgot that Alex is actually not much older than he is. “Me neither,” Tommy muttered.

Alex paused for a second then lifted his head from the pillow. “Y’wanna help each other out?” he asked.

Tommy didn’t know what that phrase had implied when he nodded, and before he knew how much time or talk had passed since then... his penis was in the other boy’s hand.

How had they got there? What did Alex say to Tommy to let him climb into his bed? Did it take a lot of convincing, or was Tommy throwing open the cover? How…or even why? Why was he letting this happen?

None of those answers were fighting their way to the tip of his brain moreso the tip of his cock at that particular moment when Alex was making him feel so good.

“You have to be quiet,” Alex hissed low. Tommy hadn’t even realized he was making any sound. He had some sort of wit about him to begin handing at Alex, in which Alex had to suck in a sharp breath to hold back his own groans.

Tommy had never held a prick in his hand other than his own before. Looking back, he can’t remember whose was longer or shorter, skinnier or girthier, and who was already hard or which of them needed to be fluffed a bit more. All he remembers was the blackness under the covers and biting into the palm of a hand while the other boy held back his curses through clenched teeth.

Tommy also can’t remember who came first; although he’s pretty certain it was himself. The first right and true memory that floats to his mind is Alex climbing out of his bed and going back to his own, falling asleep almost instantly. Meanwhile, Tommy sat in a mix of his own and Alex’s come, a warm and wet spot in the middle of the bed. He used a t-shirt to mop up the mess and then tried his best to position himself out of the dampness. He turned on his side with his back to Alex’s low-bellied snore.

The next day they didn't talk about it. Or the day after that. Or after...

Tommy rings his hands on the table as the train rocks back and forth. If Alex was fine with it then so is he. Because honestly, a wank before bed helps tucker you out for sleep, and maybe Alex was just as sick of his own hand as Tommy was. So they just used each other as they have been for several weeks before then. It meant nothing more than that. Alex probably never thought about it again.

Though that still didn't stop Tommy from lying awake those nights in the sheets that were cleaned, the smell and slick of come long gone as if it never happened, trying to listen intently to Alex’s breathing pattern and see if Alex was having trouble sleeping again. Wondering if Alex was ever going to lift his head from the pillow and begin, “I can’t sleep...”

The train rattles even more harshly as it slows to make a stop. Tommy looks out the window to see where they are. Stafford. He has a bit of a ways to go.

Alex is soon back at the seat with a paper folded under his arm and a steamy cuppa.

“Christ, are yeh still blushin’?” he takes in the sight of Tommy’s ears and neck that are a deep red hue, but for quite different reasons than Alex expected. “If it means that much to you, come with me next time.”

Alex balances the tea, trying not spill as he sits. Before taking a sip, he nods out the window, “What station were we just at?”

“Stafford,” Tommy murmurs.

“Stafford, eh? I once fancied a bird from Stafford. Blue eyes ‘n’ a pretty little face fulla freckles... Had big teeth though. She--”

“Where are you getting off?” Tommy asks, finally able to look into his face again.

Alex blows out a breath for a second, puffing out his cheeks. “Let’s see uh, Congleton?”

“Congleton,” Tommy picks at the dirt under his nail and tries make his voice as indifferent as possible. “Is that where you're from?”

“No,” Alex opens up his paper and begins skimming the pages. Tommy lowers his eyes, waiting for him to go on.

“So…” he finally says after a long pause. “Where’re you from then?”

Alex doesn't even look up from the paper when he states, “I’m from Holmes Chapel,” then commits himself to reading an article about Churchill and new naval policies.

Tommy didn't even bother waiting for Alex to kick the question back at him. It’s not characteristic of Alex to ask him about which station he is getting off at or even where his home is. Alex strictly only asks questions that are essential to his survival.

Knowing that Tommy liked to eat strawberries--his favorite food-- with his mother, father, and little sister in Richmond during the summers when he was growing up was hardly going to help Alex survive a u-boat attack or gun down an advancing enemy line. Alex didn’t bother with niceties and that, quite honestly, suited Tommy just fine. Tommy didn't like talking too much either, which is why they worked so well together.

They continue in silence for an indiscriminate amount of time. Alex reads every single word, starting from the cover and on, while Tommy’s eyes constantly flit out the window to see if he recognizes anything yet. The stops come one after the other… Soldiers are being greeted by loved ones, men kiss their wives and newborn babies, girlfriends cry and run into young lads’ arms, hugs, tears... There's nothing like that waiting for Tommy when he gets off.

He counts each wailing train whistle. He knows that Congleton comes before Rusholme--where Tommy is getting off--and the feelings of uneasiness settle in the pits of his stomach. If he’s honest, Tommy is fine with Alex leaving. Truly. He wants to be left alone because he needs to sort through his odd thoughts of late. Honestly. And the fact that after their respective R&R periods, they are being called back to duty at different stations makes it even more fine.

Tommy doesn't know if he will ever see Alex again. And that’s fine. What’s really making Tommy feel uneasy, he thinks, is how is he going to say goodbye? No-- really. He thinks it’s uncomfortable enough as it is. When he left for the war, he gave a weak one-armed hug to his sister, shook his dad’s hand, and let his mom pull him into an acutely drawn-out hug...and that was just his family. What is he going to do with Alex? How do you say goodbye to someone who you have been through monumental, life-changing experiences with?

Tommy hopes that Alex just takes mercy on him by smacking him on the back and saying some irritating remark like, “Don’t let that luck run out, eh?” and then he’s gone. That way, Tommy’s last impression of him can be one of disdain, making the residue of Alex’s mark on his life easier to forget.

“Read this,” Alex demands, flipping the newspaper around on the table and pushes it toward Tommy.

“I don’t want to,” Tommy objects while the train grinds to a halt at the next station. Tommy looks at the dock and reads the Congleton sign.

“Isn’t this your stop?” he nods at the outside. Alex turns in his seat and looks through the sliding doors about to close in a minute.

“Changed me mind,” he answers and jerks the paper back toward him. “The next stop is closer to where I’m going, anyway.”

Tommy’s chest falls before he sits back in his seat. While they both wait for the next stop, he watches Alex’s eyes flicker across the page in concentration. The fact that he probably won’t have to watch Alex as he reads the paper anymore was not lost on Tommy.

The doors whine when they open once more. Alex jumps up and Tommy already winces, anticipating the hard blow to his shoulder blade to come in the next second. He waits for the worst.

“I’m gonna go find the bathroom,” Alex breezily states and marches away. Perhaps Alex meant the one after that? Tommy isn't going to press on because he has already made a fool of himself by overstepping his boundaries once today. Alex is a grown man. He has seen blood and gore, what flesh looks like when it chars in an instant, and he has looked into the bloated faces of dozens of dead men floating back in with the tide. He doesn't need someone--much less Tommy-- checking up on him.

When the next stop comes and goes...and the one after that... Alex makes no movement towards the door. In fact, he has his eyes closed at this point and arms folded across his chest, trying to catch a wink of sleep. Tommy finally pipes up.

“My stop is in a few.”

“Oh yeah?” His lids don't even crack.

“Where did you say you were going again?”

“Up north.”

Tommy presses his lips together.

In not too long, the next stop appears outside their window. Alex--by no surprise--doesn't make any movement again and Tommy wonders if he has fallen asleep.

“Alex,” he starts quietly. When Alex doesn't stir, Tommy hooks a foot under his and pulls.

“Oi!” Alex exclaims, opening his eyes to scowl at Tommy.

“You’ve missed your stop,” Tommy points out the obvious.

“No I haven’t” he yawns after being rustled out of near sleep. Tommy watches Alex stretch his whole body and round it off with a sniff before finally meeting Tommy’s eyes again.

“Bleeding Christ,” he shakes his head. “Fine, alrigh’? I wasn't getting off at Congleton.”

“Where, then?”

Alex’s eyes search the air for a moment. He sighs, “I don’t really have anywhere to go, mate.”

With a shrug, he takes a sip of his tea that Tommy has to imagine is Atlantic cold by now.

Tommy leans forward and scans Alex, “What about your family?”

“Mum’s dead,” Alex’s gaze is trained on the cup as his fingers trace the top. “...and I was living with my brother-- almost raised me, he did.” Alex stops talking. Tommy doesn't push him to continue, he just stares at the cup along with him.

“...He died on the Royal Oak battleship early in the war. U-47 attack. Little less than a year ago.” He takes pauses in between each new lump of information, as if hard to swallow down.

Alex doesn't cry or anything. His pauses are the only indication that he has any human emotion whatsoever about the fate of his mother and brother. The air with which he says these things are simply stated as facts...facts that he can't change so why be emotional. They’re dead and he’s surviving and that’s that.

…Tommy isn't quite sure how to respond.

“Oh,” he manages. Tommy knows that anything he would say would probably sound disingenuous to Alex, whose bullshit radar is off the charts. So they breathe practically in sync for some time-- could be several minutes.

“Erm,” Tommy shifts up in his seat because he was five inches below the table and he didn't even realize. He clears his throat, “What was going to be your plan then?”

Alex raises his shoulders and half smiles, “I was mostly thinking about checking out my old mate’s flat up in Prestwich.”

“Does he know you're coming? Does he have place for you to stay?”

“Not sure if he’ll let me stay, if I’m honest. I lifted his bird a few months before leaving and, understandably, he wasn’t too keen on tha’. If he was still bent outta shape about it, then I figured I’d just take up in a pub somewhere and then... figure it out?” He nibbles on his lip.

Tommy doesn't respond right away. The only noise between them for a good minute is Alex ripping up the paper cup.

Tommy keeps his face as blank as a slab of marble-- or tries to, anyway.

“Do you need to stay at mine?” he finally asks.


	2. Chapter 2

The first night that Tommy thought he would have been able to sleep all the way through because Alex wasn’t gonna be there, is disturbed by none other than Alex himself.

Though, this time they aren't directly next to each other in which Tommy can throw something or aim a swift kick at the side of his bed. They sleep in separate rooms, but Tommy can still hear Alex’s heavy breathing, rapidly escalating into loud, gulping breaths.

Tommy gets out of bed and walks toward the sound. His flat is quite small and cramped-- only a bedroom, living area, a dinky little bathroom, and kitchen that was kind enough to allow at least a half table. He didn't want much, anyway.

His parents bought him this place. It’s near the university that he was set to attend before the war happened. And, as it goes, he left and the flat-- never even properly settled into-- became a hollow shell of a life that has been missed entirely. Maybe he’ll still have a chance to go to uni when this is all over. That is, if he makes it to that point.

Tommy trips over something in the dark. After cursing down at the heap of Alex’s uniform and boots on the floor, he finally locates the source of the gasping.

“Alex-” he whisper shouts. Tommy doesn't know why he is keeping a hushed tone when it’s only them in the flat. Old habits...

Alex doesn't wake up and, if anything, gets louder. “Alex,” Tommy raises his voice some more. Using his outstretched arm in the still blackness of night, he finds the mass lying on the couch. His hand connects with Alex’s bare shoulder and he recoils as if touching a hot stove. Tommy shakes himself out and goes at it again, this time with more contentiousness. “Alex!”

He rattles Alex, whose latest gasping breath hitches in his throat and hops back down into his lungs again. “Huh? What?!” he snorts.

“You were being loud--I have neighbors.” Tommy says, when in truth, he couldn't give a damn what they think.

In the dark, Tommy can make out Alex’s shape as it flips over to see who the voice belongs to, though who else would it be? He flicks on the lightswitch.

“Ah!” Alex squints and rubs a finger at the inner corner of his eye. That’s when Tommy gets the full unadulterated view of Alex lying naked on his couch. He was sitting up, betraying a squidgy, healthy belly. Meanwhile his cock--corralled in a bit of dark pubic hair--was flopped onto his leg.

Honestly, it was nothing that Tommy hadn’t seen, and not just because...well...what happened before… but Tommy had seen Alex in the nude several times simply because of the shared shower space at the barracks. He wasn't a stranger to Alex’s body, so that’s not what made Tommy groan in exasperation. He was more fatigued at the boy’s bare arse printed on his sofa.

“Why are you naked?” he gripes, picking up Alex’s muddled clothing off the ground and moving them to a small chair next to the radio.

“Because I've spent six months being forced to sleep in me knickers, that’s why.” His vision has adjusted-- though his eyes are goopy. He watches Tommy through hard blinking eyes as he tears back and forth across the room, picking up after Alex.

“Look, mate. If you're gonna stay here, there are rules, right? The first involves bleedin’ pickin’ up after yourself. The second--and I can’t believe I’d even hafta say-- is no bollocks on the furniture.”

Despite Tommy’s spitting tirade or his jerky motions or his storm-set face, Alex fights a smile looking at him.

“I’ve put a sheet down, alrigh’?” he snickers. Tommy has never been good at laying down the law or being scary enough to have anyone take him seriously.

“Fine. Just wash it when you leave,” he grumbles back at him.

Tommy can tell through Alex’s nod that he is still bubbling just under the surface, apparently finding his anger quite amusing. “I’m going back to bed,” Tommy clenches his fist and turns.

“Wait, Tom. Come ‘n’ have a chat. When we first got here earlier, you had vanished before I even put my stuff down.”

“I was tired.”

“-and now you're up, so...” he jerks a chin at the chair across the way. “Go on.”

Tommy releases the tension in his fingers, making a decision on the spot that ended up not requiring a lot of convincing on Alex’s part. “I’ll stay only if you put a damn blanket on,” he lowers his eyes at the other boy.

Alex’s mouth twitches as he bows his head. He readjusts the covers over himself, meanwhile, Tommy clears the chair in which he had just put the clothes on.

“D’you mind if I smoke?” Alex asks.

“No-” Tommy replies and Alex’s hand is already in his bag and beginning to pack a hand-rolled cigarette before Tommy could so much as finish his sentence with “-not at all.”

After a few moments, Alex lights up; the flame illuminating the bottom half of his face for a few seconds. Tommy is drawn to it like a moth.

He clears his throat. “I didn’t know you smoked?”

“Sleeping naked isn't my only vice. Y’wanna know of another one?” Alex lets the cigarette hang out of his mouth while he pulls a flask out of his bag. He takes a long drag-and-release of the cig and wastes no time in chasing it with a chug from the flask. Tommy had never smoked before and he has yet to be proper drunk. His mum let him drink wine at dinner whenever he wanted though.

Alex leans back and rests both arms along the sides of the sofa. “Tell me about the birds here in Rusholme,” he says.

Tommy--in comparison to Alex’s lounging--not only looks uncomfortable sitting upright in a rigid wooden chair, but he feels uncomfortable trying to answer the question, “Well, I didn't actually live here long before the war started and I had to leave--so I didn't really-- I mean, I didn't have time--” he squirms.

“Alright then,” Alex interjects and turns up a cocky cheek, “I think this means we should get on out there and see the lot,”

“Do you?”

“Yea, we’ll go out. Me ‘n’ you--my good luck charm… with you there, I'll be pulling girls all night! What’s your ‘rule’” he air quotes the word before continuing, “on bringing girls back here.”

Hearing Alex call him his good luck charm once more ruffled up the feathers along Tommy’s spine all over again. “Decidedly not very keen on it,” he answers.

“Fair enough,” Alex raises his hands. When he brings them back down, Tommy spots the lengthy ash at the end of the cigarette that is far too close to the fabric of the sofa for comfort.

“Watch it there!” he cries, scrambling to get Alex a teacup from the table that still has dregs at the bottom of it.

“Okay, okay!” Alex chuckles when Tommy shoves the teacup at him. “You are quite the no-nonsense-knob, aren't you?” he continues to laugh and flick his ashes into the ceramic.

“You don’t even know me,” he mutters.

Things were different, before. He was different. Tommy wasn't hard pressed to believe that he was the jokester of his friend group by any means, but he certainly appreciated banter in those days when the only thing he had to worry about were girls and grades; back before the responsibility of a whole country was thrust on his shoulders; back before he ever pulled Alex away from the colossal steel hull of a medic boat about to crush him or any of the shit storm that followed that week. It was maybe going to take him some time before he could feel normal again--perhaps until he feels like there isn't a gun consistently pointed to his head.

Alex eyes Tommy for a second before inhaling more cigarette smoke. “You’re right, I don’t really know you,” he replies, billowy clouds seep from his lips before he forcefully expels the rest of it in a blow.

“...Or I may know you better than anyone else. But that’s neither here nor there. Let’s forget the Tommy I met in France and get to know the Tommy here in Rusholme-- or I’m guessing this isn’t actually where you're from…?”

“I grew up in London...Richmond, if you care,” Tommy pulls at his boxers that have hiked up his leg a bit when he sat back down.

“And why, then, do you have a flat here in Rusholme?”

“Uni. My parents...they got it for-” Tommy stops himself, feeling foolish telling a boy whose mother and brother just died how his flat is being paid for by parents who are still alive and well. Not only that, but rich enough to afford such luxuries. Tommy swallows at the sick feeling in his stomach. But Alex, reaching for his second cigarette by now, doesn't seem to mind.

“From the lack of much of anything in here, I take it you never made it to uni?”

Tommy shakes his head in response.

“Well then, we’re not far off. I never even made it to sixth form.”

“Was that in Holmes Chapel?”

Alex waves his hand off, “I was all over the place with my brother growing up.”

Tommy nods and his eyes linger while Alex readjusts the blanket a bit on his legs due to the damp heat of an English August. He doesn't need to say anything before Alex starts back up with the questions again.

“Why did you decide to take your R&R leave here in Rusholme instead of Richmond?” He asks.

Tommy blinks. He can’t begin to understand why Alex is asking these questions in the first place, much less that one. Talking about his boring life is not essential to Alex’s survival, so why even bother? Tommy wishes he would stop putting him on the spot like this and instead talk about himself like he normally does. Regardless, Alex raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“I suppose…” Tommy’s adams apple bobs. “I suppose I wanted to be left alone. Try ‘n’ get me head on straight again. I don't think my folks or sister would recognize me if I went home and I didn't want to worry them,” He answers with truth.

Alex looks inside the teacup and shakes it around, “I understand tha’. You didn't want to scare your family with how fucked you’ve become since France,” he lifts his head and looks at Tommy with bright eyes, “but now you're stuck with me and my fucked up head.”

Tommy actually returns a small smile for a short second, “Couldn’t leave you homeless, soaking in a pub for a fortnight, could I?” he chuckles.

Alex seems to react well to Tommy’s smile, not seeing it very often, “I appreciate it.” he bobs his head. “I don't think I need to stay the entire time, but a day or two just so I can figure out what to do,”

“Yeah, alright.”

Tommy ignores the twist to his stomach.

Alex stretches out again and sniffs, “So, you said you have your folks and a sister. Anyone else waiting for you in Richmond?”

“I have some friends, yea. Don't know if all of ‘em have made it this far, what with being in the trenches as well.”

Alex nods, stoic. “And any girlfriends?” he presses on.

Tommy swallows hard, “No.”

Alex looks Tommy up and down before flicking more ash into his teacup, “Any boyfriends?” he asks coolly.

“What?”

“I mean, you can say... I wouldn't tell the bobbies on yeh,” he squeezes the butt of the cigarette with his lips while eyeing Tommy.

“No! I’m not-- I mean that’s jus--” Tommy sputters and can’t help the edge that creeps into his voice as the words start tumbling out. “I’m not a puff! I’ve had girlfriends before-- just because I’m not jumping every girl’s bones I come across like _YOU_ doesn't make me a puffter-!”

Alex raises his shoulders in defeat, “Alrigh’, Alrigh’- was just asking! I believe you, mate. Get yer knickers out of a twist,”

Tommy’s blood pressure rises and he breathes to catch up.

Alex doesn't even fucking know Tommy. An intrusive question to ask. With things the way the way they are? Homosexuality. Gross indecency between men being illegal. That’s not something to mess with, throwing that around, especially in the same breath as Tommy’s name... Where does he get off asking him that... and so blunt? Tommy has half a mind to kick him out of his flat-- be damned if Alex is out on the streets! It’s not his responsibility.

Alex just watches Tommy’s chest expand with an eyebrow somewhat ticked. Tommy wants to bruise it with his fist.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Alex concludes. He digs the flask out again and holds it up, raising both eyebrows in question.

Tommy sighs out the final breath, which stills his overly beating heart. The idea of a drink does sound agreeable right now, if only to make him sleepy so that he can go back to bed and get out of this conversation all the quicker. He nods and just as he is about to lift off the seat to walk over to Alex and grab it, Alex is out of his own seat and walking over to Tommy instead, in naught but his skin.

Muscles flex, hair falls in his eye, his member bobs...Tommy’s gaze pinballs around the room to anywhere else but him. Alex stands over him and holds out the flask; Tommy tries to look at the drink as if he didn't even notice Alex had walked it over to him in the nude, like nothing was out of the ordinary… which it wasn't. But then it still felt like something lurked beneath the gesture.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, taking it from him with a closed-mouth smile.

“Sure thing,” Alex acknowledges. Tommy is taking a swig before Alex even makes it back to his seat. Bourbon. He had had it before, but couldn't recall the taste until now. The fire licks down his throat as he tries to hold back a wince in front of the boy who probably grew up on the stuff.

“So tell me about the girls you've been with,” Alex readjusts the blanket over himself with leisure.

Already, Tommy is going for his second chug from the flask, dribbling a bit on his chin before answering, “Not really much to say,” he wipes it off.

“C’mon, I tell you about mine,”

“I don’t ask you to.”

Tommy wasn't lying to Alex or anything. He really did have girlfriends before the war-- two of ‘em. Although, he could barely count one because they went steady for maybe a week before her father found out and stopped Tommy from calling on her. They were 16. Less than a year later was when he met his next girlfriend.

Alex gives Tommy a Cheshire cat grin, almost reading his mind while he recalls his past love interests. “C’mon then. Give us a name?” he demands.

Tommy releases a long sigh. “Moira” he relinquishes to Alex, who is trying to contain his teeth.

“Moira,” Alex repeats. Tommy rolls the lid of the flask between his thumb and finger.

“Blonde or brunette?” he questions.

“Black hair.”

Alex half smiles and leans back with this information.

Tommy remembers Moira with fondness. She was daughter of his mum’s friend, and they would come around during the summers. Tommy and her would talk in his backyard for hours and he swears, freckles that weren't on her face at the beginning of the day would sprout on her skin like morning glories by the end. She even had them on her lips.

“-so why is she not waiting for you back home?” Alex pulls Tommy out of his memories.

Tommy chews on his cheek. “We ended things several months before I even left,” he shrugs.

“What happened?”

“After about a year together, her and her family moved to Wembley.”

“That’s not terribly far.”

“No. No, it’s not,” Tommy agrees and taps his fingers along the flask. “And I did take the train to see her a couple of times but...I dunno, I guess the starry-eyed part of the relationship had faded after that and we just, sorta...stopped.”

Alex contemplates this for a clock’s tick and then looks at Tommy. “A year... Well, looks good on yeh. The longest I ever held onto a bird was three weeks. Attachments aren't my bag.”

“Clearly,” Tommy adds. He drinks from the flask, just because it was there more than anything else.

“How far did you get with her in under a year?” Alex asks.

And there it was. What seems like the first time Tommy and Alex could have a proper, balanced conversation, and Alex continues to side-step and smack Tommy a new one. Tommy should've anticipated this as the next logical question to come from Alex. After all, he has the uncanny ability to turn conversations to the most primitive of human emotions: sex. It might just be his philosophy... Survival... Survival in order to make it home and continue to do all the things he loves... fucking being at the top of that list. Tommy had nothing against it, really. If your skin is saved, do with it what you want. He just wishes that Alex wouldn't assume that he prescribes to the same doctrine too.

The bourbon goes down Tommy’s throat about as easy as dry-swallowing a lozenge. When it’s cleared, he coughs out, “Do we have to do this?”

“Mate, I said I wanted to get to know you. C’mon, it’s just us here.”

Tommy doesn't protest again right away. The alcohol has begun to shake out his self-restraint. He can feel it-- a warmth spreading down, particularly through his forearms, oddly enough. They feel fuzzy. And his ears...his ears always bear the worst of it. Alex must think him daft. He is going to see the tips of Tommy’s ears go red and probably assume that he is embarrassed, or worse, that he has something to hide. But Tommy has nothing to hide. He wants to humor Alex’s curiosity to prove a point.

“Out with it,” Alex insists.

“I mean, we were together for a year, yeah?”

There’s a pause. Alex waits for him to go on but Tommy fancies himself another slosh. “And?” Alex pushes.

“And she was very happy the first time I came to visit her in Wembley, so she thanked me,”

“Gonna want more details than that, Tom.”

Tommy likes this because he has the control now. After months of Alex hooting on about his conquests, Tommy can finally feel like he is on a level playing field.

“We made love in the back of her father’s car,”

Alex scrunches his face.

“What? It was the only place we could find.”

“No, you said ‘made love,’” He recalls with a sharp taste on his tongue. “I’ve not heard a boy of only 18 or 19 call it that...You _fucked_.”

Tommy about rolls his eyes, “Alright, we fucked.”

He does believe he loved Moira and what they did was an expression of that. But he wasn't about to explain that to Alex whose bullshit reader would no doubt set itself off and they'd be dragged into a quarrel that Alex always seemed to beat Tommy down.

So Alex nods, satisfied. He reaches for another cigarette paper again. “How was it?”

“...Nice.” What kind of a dumb question is that?

“Were you any good?” Alex doesn't even look up as he sprinkles loose leaf tobacco into the translucent sheet.

Tommy’s mouth opens. He is put on the spot again. Alex didn't ask if, subjectively, Tommy thought Moira was good in bed-- objectifying women, just normal lad talk. Alex was instead asking him to turn inward and answer if he was good to Moira in bed.

“Erm, I suppose I was-- I might’ve been fine. It was both our first time--there was nothing for either of us to compare to…?” He stammers.

“Did you make her come?”

Tommy casts his eyes back down at the flask. He wishes he could take another drink, but there is only just a little bit which is mostly a mix of Alex’s and his own backwash. His guard is far too much down for him to be having this conversation right now. “I’m not sure… No. No, I don’t think I did.”

“Were there other times, or just the once?”

“Why does it matter?” Tommy spits back. Alex’s questions starting to broach, a feeling he is becoming far too used to.

“Just curious,” he defends. He is taking his time with rolling this cigarette. He’ll start pinching the paper and when it’s not thin enough, he starts over again. Tommy almost forgets the question while he watches Alex and this interesting form of art.

“Erm-” Tommy blinks hard. Both at Alex and at the cloudiness beginning to overtake his vision. “Yes, there were a few more times.”

“Did you use rubbers?”

“Of course, yes-- always.”

“Good lad,” Alex finally gets the cigarette to about as thin as a lolly stick. Tommy’s heart continues to beat at a gallop while waiting for what Alex will say or ask next.

“I bet you always came super quick,” Alex’s eyes slide up from his work to look at Tommy for the first time in a long minute. With his gaze never leaving him, Alex licks along the edge of the paper.

Tommy’s nostrils flare, “Oy, fuck off!”

“Oh, that one got ‘im,” a muscle feathers in Alex’s cheek while taking in Tommy who, once again, never actually made anyone ever frightened enough that he’d take a swing at them.

“-just because your cock is always drenched bollocks-deep doesn't mean you're allowed to think you're better than me.” Tommy’s words seem to slice through Alex’s impermeable sense of humor. He stops squeezing at the ends of his cigarette.

“Alrigh’ alrigh’ I was just takin’ the piss. I’ll back off,” he states.

Tommy and Alex sit for several seconds in tense silence where the only sound to be heard was the grinding of Tommy’s teeth. Alex seems unfazed as he puts the thin white stick in his mouth and cups it while lighting up.

“Can I ask you one more question?” he says.

“I suppose you're probably going to anyway,” Tommy sets his jaw. Something about the way he flicks it up, though, gives Alex permission to go on.

“How long ago was the last time you guys fucked?”

Tommy pauses and looks into his brain. “A little over a year?”

“Over a ye--!” Alex stops when he sees Tommy grip the chair’s arm. “--I mean, over a year. That’s rough. But I suppose come to think of it, I’ve gone six months which is already half that time. It seems like a lifetime ago... after everything that’s happened, yeah? But also it’s been a blink. It’s doin’ me head in.”

“Yeah, I know what you're saying.”

Alex takes a long drag of the cigarette while Tommy counts the diamonds in the carpet on the floor. “So,” Alex blows out a big cloud of smoke. “Do you wanna wank each other off again?”

Tommy snaps his neck up to look at the other boy. He looks undisturbed in between the reels of smoke floating upwards; as if he were asking a question as normal as “Do you wanna go for a midnight stroll?” Tommy thinks Alex likes this type of chaos he can inflict with just one sentence. Alex folds his hands over his naked belly.

Tommy stutters and stalls. “How much have you had to drink?” he accuses.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’ve had only one pull. You’re the one over there chugging down most of it,” Alex pointedly smacks his lips.

Tommy looks down and sloshes around what is left of the drink. All of his thoughts come crashing in at once, a rush of sound like the inside of the flask. The alcohol warming his blood doesn't make it easier to pin down just one thought, either.

“Quit hoggin,” Alex interrupts Tommy’s thunderous mind. “Bring it over here, will yah?” He reaches his hand out-- a gesture, a request, an invitation. Tommy knows what’ll happen if he allows himself to walk over there.

“We can’t,” Tommy barely utters above a whisper.

“C’mon, it’s just...helping each other out.”

Helping each other out.

Tommy looks back at the diamonds on the carpet. It’s the only thing he can make sense of right now. “We shouldn't,” he echoes.

“Oh who bleedin’ gives a fook! It’s just us here, not like last time.”

After a few moments, Tommy finally drags his focus back to Alex. The other boy’s chest moves steady, not even betraying a single indication that he’s spooked or whoozy like Tommy. So confident and sure he is...

Cocky.

He knows he has Tommy bought and sold when he holds a hand out again, “Bring the flask over here.” His voice is like soft cotton scraping over rock.

With knees that almost knock together, Tommy lifts himself off the chair. Alex hides the quirk of his cheek as he scooches down the couch.

“Thanks,” he chirps when Tommy hands him the flask, but he sets it aside.

Tommy is aware of his every move; is aware of the wetness in the crease of his hand; is aware of the smell of booze, smoke, and sweat when he sits down next to Alex. He tries to rub his palm on his knee while looking straight forward.

Alex balances his still smoldering cigarette on the edges of the teacup. His back muscles slide fluidly, like tectonic plates shifting on the Earth’s mantle. Tommy, who didn't even realize he was staring in the first place, rips his eyes away before Alex twists back around.

“Right,” Alex starts. His hand approaches the top of Tommy’s boxers.

Tommy stops him, “Just this one more time,” he pleads.

“Don’t worry, it doesn't mean anything-- now relax, yeah?” Alex continues toward the button.

Tommy can't bring himself to watch as Alex fishes into the material drowning in his lap. And then the next moment, well, he can hardly see much of anything at all. When Alex’s hand closes around Tommy’s cock, the blinding delirium takes over and he struggles to keep his lids open out of damn embarrassment-- one second in and he is already wrecked at his _one_ touch. God help him.

Tommy tells himself to fight it. With none but a tremble of his eye muscles, he stares straight ahead and allows Alex to do his thing. Only Tommy is aware that inside his closed mouth, his teeth are clenched so hard that it will begin to ache something fierce soon.

Alex squeezes at the bottom of Tommy’s length first, testing to see how much blood has gushed to the spot. Despite having drank, Tommy is already plumped and he hopes that Alex doesn't draw any conclusions as to why. Alex then takes this gripping motion up the shaft, inch by inch. He pauses then squeezes, pauses then squeezes-- almost mapping out exactly where the blood flows the thickest. Tommy is beginning to fade.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex’s set face. One could almost think Alex--with his bent brows and hard eyes--looked fierce or angry, but Tommy knew him well enough over these past few months to know of the concentration behind it. He’s staring down at Tommy’s lap, but not at the cock itself, which is still tucked away in the material. Alex’s hand is obscured as it begins to pull at Tommy, limited by its confines.

“Make it easier on me, mate. Budge up,” he commands. Tommy almost isn't able to hear him, what with the pounding that stuffs his ear.

“Right...okay,” he says, breathless. His movements are molasses-slow as he slides his boxers to the floor. Meanwhile, Alex spits into his hand.

Now free of obstructions, Tommy’s cock stands at attention. Alex wastes no time really in gripping it once more with his slicked-up hand. At that, Tommy shudders and his eyes close of their own volition.

Behind the blackness, he lets himself feel only Alex’s hand as it ghosts the length. Speeding up and slowing back down then speeding up again. It’s clear that his technique is honed from many years of doing it to himself. From this, Tommy can glean that Alex probably likes a bit of a tease when he wanks to draw out the process for as long as possible.

When Alex twists at the head, tingles burst, indescribable to tell. Tommy wonders if Alex is pulling out all the stops that he does on himself to see how Tommy reacts. The sucking of a sharp breath back into his lungs is the answer that Alex must be looking for.

The last time they did this, they tugged at each other at the same time, chasing their highs as quietly as possible to not arouse suspicion. It was rushed and born out of basic human need. Dirty. Raw. Quick. However, now that they are in private quarters, they are allowed to take as much time as they want-- and Alex wastes not a moment of it.

Tommy is also free to moan out if he wants to. But for some reason, he fights at the animalistic sounds, guttural in his throat. Somewhere in his muddled mind, a thought tugs that tells him to think of Moira. To think of the softness of a girl in order to somehow make this less wrong. But in that moment, all he can think of is the calluses on Alex’s hand and how that hand knows exactly what it is doing.

“Stop being so fuckin’ tense. It’s a wank for Christ sake,” Alex hums and presses a thumb to the the slit, massaging it soothingly.

Where Tommy really loses abandon is when Alex starts to speed up. A sweat springs at his temple. His heart begins to beat out of its brittle cage. His goddamn ears burn again. Tommy is sure his whole face is red and looking to burst at the seams, trying not to let on how good it feels. With his eyes pinched shut, he looks like a bomb--like the ones they are both all too familiar with-- ready to explode.

Alex introduces more squeezing into his equation. He spits in his hand again and it mixes with Tommy’s precome. The sound it makes is obscene. If Tommy could steal a glance at Alex, he’d see the other boy biting his lip, eyes to what he is doing. Tommy doesn't want to look though. Doesn't want to feel like he is crossing a line by staring into the eyes of the boy who is wanking him off-- it’s too intimate. However, when his neck becomes too weak to hold up his head, he looks down to utter a breathy “fuuuck.” That’s when his vision catches sight of what Alex’s _other_ hand is doing.

Through the blanket still draped over Alex’s legs, Tommy can see the hard outline of Alex’s cock. And he sees that Alex is palming at himself while touching Tommy.

The sight makes Tommy come in an instant without much warning to Alex, given his self-imposed restraint up to that point. The white paints his shirt, and drips to his balls, and coats Alex’s fingers--an embarrassing amount, Tommy would think, if he wasn't so preoccupied with the rapturous sensations extending to even the tips of his toes as they tuck under. His hips buck upwards and try to squirm out of reach, but Alex keeps his hand to it, trying to help relieve Tommy of everything that was pent up.

“Christ,” Alex murmurs. He starts to slow his hand when Tommy slows, almost trembling to a full stop. His chest moves to catch up with the lack of oxygen while he sits in his own mess for what is perhaps a minute or several.

He can’t bear to look over at Alex who uses the blanket to wipe off his fingers. Instead, Tommy looks down at himself and the sticky, milky white spattered there. Without a word, he gets off the couch and pulls the shirt over his head.

Before dropping it to the floor, he uses it to sponge at his lower abdomen and along his cock, which are wet with both spit and come. The shirt will hardly be useable after that, if not for the stain but the memory of guilt attached to it.

“Oi,” Alex calls from across the room. “Am I gonna get a hand here?”

Tommy doesn't even want to look back at his smug face or give him anymore time to utter his next snide comment. In a last minute, split second decision, Tommy turns and bounds across the floor, going to his knees in front of Alex .

The laughter dies in Alex’s eyes. “Hey, mate. I don’t mean-” he begins to protest. It’s too much. Too far. Too gay...

But before he could say anymore, Tommy’s mouth is on him and the rest of the words hitch at his throat, a grunt left in its stead.

Tommy never even gave _himself_ time to think before he was on that hard, unforgiving floor. He couldn't tell you more about the reasons he is there other than he just needed to get whatever this urge is out of his system. So that he can say with certainty that he, in fact, does not particularly enjoy having a penis in his mouth anymore than when his mouth is kissing a girl’s sweet, soft lips. He needs to be sure.

So he takes only a little bit of Alex inside at first. It tastes like the smell of the air that hangs low around them. Skin, sweat, and salt.

Tommy stops and pulls down Alex’s skin for better access. Alex makes a sound, but Tommy doesn’t pay any attention to what kind. He fastens his top lip to snag on the ridge and then runs his tongue along the bottom where the slit meets.

It’s just more of the same taste. But not bad, if he’s honest. It’s what Tommy expected from his experience of kissing Moira after she’s been down on him. He would never admit to it out loud, but he always liked the savor. He thought it was just the heat of the moment, all those times with her, just her... but now with the source of the singular taste heavy in his mouth, overpowering quite possibly every sense he has, he can’t be so sure what it is. He feels lightheaded. More blood rushing away from his brain... downwards.

“Fuck,” Alex curses and Tommy’s attention is brought back to the boy whose cock is currently in his mouth. Careful not to disrupt Tommy on him, Alex reaches over for the cigarette again, brings it to his mouth, and relights it.

Tommy takes this chance to explore more than just the tip by moving his mouth all the way along the shaft. It’s a slow trek down, inch-by-inch. After sucking in a long drag, Alex lets his head fall back. He blows the smoke up into the air, also expelling a deep groan along with it.

With Alex’s cock hitting the back of his throat, Tommy finally has a better gauge on the differences between them. He is not ashamed to admit that Alex is bigger in more than one sense of the word. In length, alone, Tommy might’ve been a contender against him but when it came to girth--with the way tommy’s stretched to lips-cracked around Alex--there's really no debate.

Also, Tommy has a terrible gag reflex in which he is desperate to hide at present, eyes streaming while all the way down on Alex. He thinks it might make him look weak to wretch around the boy, and he can almost imagine the cocky turn of Alex’s cheek if he did. So he wills himself to get used to the size while starting his motion on Alex. Up and down. Slow and curious-- always tonguing at the underside and the throbbing veins there.

Tommy would maybe try to pull out all the stops on Alex, if he only knew of any. Moira didn't give him blowies very often so he doesn't really know what he likes. He did remember that he didn't mind when her teeth knocked at the head. In fact, he found it endearing. Having a little bite to it wasn't all bad but kinda cheeky. If Alex cared about Tommy’s teeth, he’s sure that Alex would never hesitate to correct him on his technique in his usual brash way. Instead, Alex looks to be enjoying this whole exchange--mistakes, teeth, ‘n’ all-- with his head tilted back and eyes closed, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Tommy wonders if he is imagining a girl on his cock instead of him.

Tommy begins bobbing his head, finally getting the hang of it, or perhaps getting swept away in it. He even ventures as far as going all the way down on Alex a few times with his nose just about skimming the coarse pubic hair. Not because he enjoys it particularly, but because of the sounds Alex makes which are something short of a squawk. He feels triumphant when Alex does that...because Tommy is now the one making Alex feel weak by making him feel good. Tommy holds the power in his hand. Pulsing, hot power.

His fingers are placed at the bottom of Alex’s cock, holding it up while sliding his tongue all the way down to taste his own skin there. Alex chokes a sound back into his smoke-lined lungs and Tommy would almost laugh if he could.

“So good,” Alex pants. His hands were mostly kept to himself this entire time. Doing what? Tommy didn’t bother to look. It’s only when Alex places a hand on the back of Tommy’s head that he stalls his motions on Alex’s cock, unsure of how to go on. He doesn't know if this is crossing some sort of line. Although, it’s true that this is probably the same line that was already crossed a week ago when Alex lifted his head from that pillow to say that he couldn't sleep.

Alex scrunches his fingers into Tommy’s hair a little, massaging at the follicles. Tommy perceives this as a reassuring gesture. This same tentative hand pushes Tommy down a fraction of an inch to urge him to go on. Tommy knows that this is his chance to stop if he wanted it...but he doesn't take it. Instead he allows Alex’s hand to continue pushing him with gentle persuasion all the way down the depth of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels-” Alex sucks in his lip when Tommy flexes his throat muscles. “f-feels so good,” he breathes.

Alex’s hand is splayed at the back of his head, firm and strong. He begins guiding Tommy up and down his length. Tommy doesn't realize it, but he closes his eyes and lets Alex use him as he pleases.

When Alex picks up the pace, he brings the other hand to the side of Tommy’s face while shallowly fucking his mouth. Tommy is just about blacked out at this point and also isn't aware that he is beginning to pull at his own cock-- hard and dripping onto the floor in between Alex’s planted feet.

Tommy is lost. Completely lost.

It’s only when Alex pushes him down and keeps Tommy at the bottom of his cock for several seconds too long that Tommy rips open his eyes. With a gag, he punches at Alex’s thigh.

“Easy,” Alex releases his grip and Tommy comes up for air, if only to glare at him. This is the first he is looking up to see the sheen of sweat on Alex’s chest, which moves up and down at almost hummingbird speed. His hooded eyes make contact with Tommy. He looks weak. Needy... he _needs_ Tommy to make him come.

Alex’s hand goes to the side of Tommy’s head. Tommy might tell him to “fuck off,” but Alex’s fingers give him that reassuring stroke again. His neck goes weak, allowing Alex to guide him back onto the thrum of the bursting red tip.

Tommy takes back control, though, wanting to get Alex there himself. Alex doesn't need to fuck tommy’s mouth because the boy goes at it with as much fervor as before. Tommy is rewarded with the sounds that Alex makes. He keeps a hand to Tommy’s head still. Not for guidance...so for whatever reason, tommy doesn't know.

Tommy accelerates his bobbing motion and Alex curses every obscenity in the book, moving his hips to meet with Tommy’s mouth. Tommy has himself in his own hand again, hard and rough tugs to sync up with Alex in his mouth. They both moan now, uninhibited by any suspicious eyes or low whispers in the bunks. Fuck his neighbors. Fuck everyone and everything. Tommy doesn't care, not with the way Alex twists his fingers harder into his hair, just shy of pain.

Alex suspends himself for a moment. Those fingers going rigid. His whole body is taut like a rubber band in one short breath before it snaps and everything is released into Tommy’s mouth. Alex didn't give him warning to pull off if he wanted to, but somehow Tommy wasn't punching at his thigh right then. Instead, he took it. The same taste of skin, sweat, and _man_ personified in liquescent form coating his tongue. Tommy lets it flood his mouth for several seconds. The cock pumping out everything it had while Alex’s hips stutter to a stop.

Tommy didn't even think about what it would mean to swallow it all down before he was doing it. Everything happened so fast. He didn't even realize that he had come on the floor at the same time as well. He wipes his chin off while glancing down at the mess.

Alex heaves air above him, reminiscent of how he sounds when he is having his nightmares. His face is in the crook of his elbow, which covers his eyes from view. Tommy is somehow grateful for this. He becomes cognizant of his position on the ground below Alex, so he makes to stand immediately.

Leaving Alex, leaving his mess, and leaving everything else behind, Tommy wants to go hide in his room for however long it takes for his ears to stop ringing or longer. Without a word, he heads for the door.

“Tommy,”

Tommy stops, surprised at Alex’s voice. It’s the softest he’s ever heard over these past few months. There's breathlessness there, but also something beneath it. Vulnerability.

He turns his chin toward his shoulder, but does not rotate completely to face the source of the voice. Alex continues.

“Can I-” he swallows hard enough for Tommy to hear it from across the room. “Can I sleep in your room?”

Tommy doesn't answer right away.

“It doesn’t have to be in your bed or anything like that! I’ll sleep on the ground. I just—I’ve been sleeping next to people—next to you—for—for months now. It’s hard for me to fall asleep without… I mean it’s hard for me to fall asleep in a room by myself, I think.”

Another long pause.

“Please?” Alex murmurs.

Tommy turn his head back towards his room. With a nod, he walks inside... leaving the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! my tumblr is harryandmesohappily if you want to check out my other writing.

**Author's Note:**

> First time ever posting on here! I mostly post my writings on my tumblr. i want to see how well, if at all, this goes down...before, if ever, i post this writing on my tumblr. please be kind, ive never written slash fiction before but it was a lot of fun!
> 
> comments are fun too? i dunno. just let me know what you think if you want.


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